


who're you calling princess, princess?

by gendernoncompliant



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Banter, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, mid season 4 ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23193259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/pseuds/gendernoncompliant
Summary: Dwight may not know the game, but he can’t say he doesn’t like playing. He watches Duke with a small, bemused smile. Duke wants something. Dwight figures if he waits long enough, Duke’ll wear himself out and tell him what it is.
Relationships: Duke Crocker/Dwight Hendrickson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 34





	who're you calling princess, princess?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crownedcarl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/gifts).



> This was a request from my ever lovely saltmate and partner in crime. The prompt was "you owe me a kiss". It's set mid season 4, when people's troubles start getting altered.

For a man who just narrowly escaped the jaws of death (or, more accurately, rescued _Dwight_ from them) Duke looks entirely too—peppy.

“You still in one piece, Squatch?”

“Probably,” Dwight huffs, shoulders aching a little from where Duke crashed into them without warning. “Just—give me a minute.”

* * *

Long as anyone can remember, the Thurmond family’s had a gravity trouble. As far as troubles go, it’s largely harmless.

The family’s youngest, Finn (a loud but well-meaning 20-something with a flair for the dramatic) became something of a local legend once the troubles kicked back in. Party tricks, casual oddities, tourist trap sorts of things. For the most part, his skillset was limited to levitating small objects and maybe, if he got real ambitious, walking up walls—inevitably losing focus halfway up and scrabbling gracelessly back to the ground. Out-of-towners had him pegged as some kind of half-rate magician. Dwight and the rest of the Guard never really had much of a reason to check up on him.

That is, until he started floating Honda Odysseys.

Cars, mailboxes, and dumpsters go up all over town. It’s like something out of a surrealist painting. Traffic, bystanders, everything grinds to a halt to watch assortments of random objects take to the sky like helium balloons. It all hovers twenty feet off the ground, turning lazily in the air.

Eventually, things start to drop. _What goes up_ , and all that.

* * *

Dwight’s been in Haven long enough to know better than to loiter under mysterious floating objects. But sometimes there’s somewhere you need to go, and the most direct route to that place takes you past the undercarriage of a Hyundai Sonata, and things have maybe been airborne for enough consecutive hours for you to get _just_ a little complacent about the whole thing.

Dwight hears an odd, ominous creak and then goes sprawling across the concrete. Behind him, the unmistakable crunch of metal on pavement. On top of him, Duke Crocker.

"Shit, that was a close one, huh?"

* * *

Audrey talks Finn down, eventually. The other various vehicles and city property that haven’t already come crashing to the ground lower themselves gently. (Not that _gentle_ matters all that much in the cases where, for example, cars are put back upside-down and mailboxes are left on roofs, but at least no one gets crushed.) McHugh volunteers to drive the kid out to a safehouse in the country where there are less _things_ for him to throw around, and everything wraps up nice and neat for once. The day is saved, or however the old cliche goes. Everyone goes their separate ways.

At least that’s what he thinks, until he finds an especially smug Duke Crocker leaned against the side of his car.

“Yours is that one,” Dwight says, nodding in the direction of Duke’s truck while something like a smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

Duke aims an overly self-satisfied grin at him, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. It’s a game, even if Dwight can’t seem to figure out the rules. When it comes to Duke, Dwight always feels like he’s only playing with half the deck.

“Now, is that any way to talk to the man who saved your life?” Duke hums in mock disappointment.

“My mistake,” Dwight counters with equally feigned remorse, only to follow it with a flat. “Get off my truck.”

Dwight may not know the game, but he can’t say he doesn’t like playing. He watches Duke with a small, bemused smile. Duke wants _something_. Dwight figures if he waits long enough, Duke’ll wear himself out and tell him what it is.

He can appreciate the unbridled energy that is Duke, even if he doesn't share it. Duke never stops moving. His moments of stillness border on calculated: an actor playing a very convincing part. He's a bad liar, but a good pretender. Dwight never really thought there was a distinction between the two things until he met Duke.

“I’m just sayin’,” Duke hums, “a little gratitude wouldn’t kill you. Which—” He raises his brows, pointing a finger at Dwight. “The car _would_ have. Just saying.”

It occurs to Dwight that he _didn’t_ thank Duke earlier—too caught up in the buzz of adrenaline and the seasick potential of just how wrong it could have gone. He owes Duke at least that much. Huffing a small, embarrassed laugh, Dwight offers a genuine, “Thank you, Duke.” He nods pointedly at his driver’s side door, which Duke still stands pressed alongside of. “Now can I get in my car?”

Duke steps away from the car and into his space. His grin splits wider than ever when he sing-songs a playful, “I don’t know, Squatch. Way I see it, you owe me a kiss.”

A kiss, huh?

Duke Crocker really is something else.

Dwight snorts a laugh, crossing his arms and leveling Duke with an amused stare. “How do you figure?”

Duke shrugs and retreats a couple steps back, which doesn't seem like him. If there's one thing Dwight knows about Duke, it's that he _pushes_. He watches Duke's expression shift in the most minute of ways. Dwight’s no mind reader, but if he had to guess, he’d say Duke was trying to decide just how doggedly he wanted to cling to the joke.

In the end, Duke doubles down—and really, Dwight expected nothing less.

“You know, when the knight in shining armor swoops in and saves the princess, he gets a kiss.”

Dwight really shouldn’t be humoring him. But, in spite of himself, he can’t stop the startled, delighted grin that crosses his expression. “And _I’m_ the princess?”

“Well, you _were_ in distress.”

Dwight nods, his expression pinching together in thought. He lets the silence drag on too long on purpose. Duke’s comfortable veneer starts to crack, just a little. He fidgets, watching Dwight as the smile slowly starts to melt off his face. It’s fun, maybe. Making Duke squirm.

“Your fairytale seems a little outdated,” Dwight muses. He revels in Duke’s undivided attention. “Kinda sexist, too. Damsel in distress? C’mon, Duke.”

Whatever small anxiety had started to build in Duke’s chest disappears in one loud puff of air that snowballs into a laugh. “You are such a dick.”

“Insulting a lady?!” Dwight huffs. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Duke grins, but he doesn’t step into Dwight’s space again.

Dwight’s good with people. It’s not that he doesn’t understand Duke. Frankly, Duke isn’t all that hard to understand. It’s that sometimes Duke makes jokes that don’t really _feel_ like jokes and Dwight hasn’t figured out exactly how much he should let him get away with, just yet.

“Whatever, Squatch,” Duke scoffs, waving a hand at him. He takes a few steps backwards, in the direction of his Land Rover. “Glad you’re not roadkill on 6th Street. Try not to stand under any more falling cars.”

Not for the first time, Dwight finds himself drawn to the effortless grace with which Duke moves. Dwight knows he isn’t half as relaxed as he pretends to be—that not half an hour ago, he was all hard lines and panic, shoving Dwight out of the way of the car as it came crashing down. But, looking at him now, you’d never guess he’d felt an ounce of stress in his life.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Dwight asks.

Duke honestly, genuinely, seems to have no idea what he means by that. It’s almost adorable.

“What?” He asks, confused.

It only takes a few short strides for Dwight to cross the space Duke’s put between them. All the while, Duke’s curious expression remains unchanged until the moment before Dwight’s hands frame his face.

“Oh,” he stammers, the word soft and muffled—more breath than voice. "That."

There’s no time to say anything else. In fact, Dwight is extremely determined to make sure he doesn't say anything else. His lips meet Duke's: a sure, insistent pressure.

Duke makes a shocked noise up against his mouth, his entire body gone still. And that’s the funniest part about the whole thing: Duke digs and digs and digs and never expects anyone to do anything about it. That’s the thing about Duke, Dwight thinks, is that he’s used to people backing down.

Dwight means to leave it at that—a quick, simple kiss. Proof that Duke can’t get a rise out of him the way he does everyone else, that Dwight can give as good as he gets. But it’s like Duke’s brain comes back online. The stillness evaporates and he fumbles to grip the front of Dwight’s shirt to drag him closer. Understanding clicks bright and clear in Dwight's mind.

It was never a game. It was a dare—one he clearly hadn’t expected Dwight to take him up on.

A thrill of satisfaction runs up his spine when Duke opens up the kiss with a moan. He takes advantage of the moment to tug on Duke's lower lip with his teeth, his hands finding a firm grip on Duke's narrow waist. He does something right, because Duke lets out a bitten off gasp and groans, “That’s cheating.”

“Thought you wanted your kiss from the princess?” Dwight asks. He tips forward to chase Duke’s mouth. The two of them hover a breath apart, both daring the other to move them forward or away. Neither one does and they stay locked like that: sharing the same air.

Duke sounds just a little bit breathless and looks just a little debauched when he mumbles, “No princess ever kissed like _that_.”

“That’s not very modern of you,” Dwight teases, almost managing to keep his tone entirely dry if it weren’t for the way his smile colored the whole thing a little too warm. It startles a vibrant laugh from Duke that’s so gorgeous, he’d bottle the sound if he knew how to.

“Whatever,” Duke drawls, rolling his eyes and tugging him closer. His voice drops to a pleased murmur when he says, “stop talking,” and leans in to give Dwight something better to do with his mouth.


End file.
